


Friends in Cold Places

by tea_petty



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Penis In Vagina Sex, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:15:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24818998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_petty/pseuds/tea_petty
Summary: Ivan makes a new friend.
Relationships: Russia (Hetalia)/Reader
Kudos: 71





	Friends in Cold Places

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-pettiest

The clicks and flashes of cameras rippled around her, making her feel simultaneously surveilled and washed out by the mass of eyes. The world was watching today as Russia’s leader met with various others in a public meeting that would discuss the global economy and other such pressing matters.

She straightened her already immaculate blazer, readying her notebook and recording device; it was imperative she get as many direct quotes as possible. Leaving anything to assumption was a particularly dangerous game when writing for politics, paving the way for libel and slander lawsuits faster than her actual tax dollars paved and fixed legitimate roads.

Beside her, Remy, a French photographer she saw often at these sorts of meetings, clicked away as the leaders took the stage, beside them, were their nation figureheads. 

Side by side, the figureheads seemed to give somewhere for the world to rest their eyes as their bosses grinned snake smiles that were intended to be reassuring but succeeded in doing that for exactly no one.

She shot an elbow his way as he briefly lowered his camera.

“Hey – save the best stuff for me?”

He snorted disbelievingly. Oh, wouldn’t his newsroom _love_ that? 

“Of course,” he said instead though. “I’ll especially make sure to include some specialty shots of Mr. Braginsky, just for you.”

She felt her cheeks warm at this. So it _had_ been terribly obvious that she’d found him handsome. 

She hoped Mr. Braginsky had been oblivious to this when they’d met briefly at the dinner the night prior.

“Yeah, well, better him than his boss.”

Remy snickered.

“You’re not wrong.”

The meeting was long; they always were. Most of it was just the leaders cobbling together vague assurances of ‘having a plan’, and ‘advancing the world forward’ without detailing any concrete measures on how they’d do that. 

“And here we have live footage of the U.S. President blowing smoke up the world’s collective ass,” she mumbled.

Remy had to clamp his hand over his mouth to silence his laugh. 

She’d have to remember to leave that part out when she transcribed her notes.

When the meeting was over, the leaders and figureheads filed out; as press, she’d be the last to leave, though this was all the better to try and get a more personal statement – and she had the aisle seat, to boot.

She watched expectantly as the men in their pressed suits came closer down the aisle. France, the United States, the United Kingdom – then finally, Russia. 

She was practically on the balls of her feet, ready to dart forward and surprise attack Russia’s representatives with a well-aimed question. 

Her device was ready in hand.

“Excuse me!” 

Russia’s leader didn’t so much as bat a lash at her voice, though Mr. Braginsky had.

“Mr. Braginsky!”

His eyes found hers and he paused, waiting for her to step out into the aisle so he could hear her better.

“Thank you for stopping Mr. Braginsky,” she tried to keep her expression and voice professional, though her skin itched under his curious gaze. “I was wondering if I could -oh!”

Beading under his nose was a slip of dark red. Mr. Braginsky hadn’t seemed to notice it yet.

“Pardon me sir, but your nose is bleeding.”

Russia’s figurehead startled a bit at this, raising his hand to his nose and drawing it back to check the red that blotted his ivory skin.

She patted her blazer pockets down hastily, knowing she had taken it with her that day if only she could _find_ the damned thing. After her second round of feeling through her pockets, she caught the pillowed confirmation of her folded kerchief and tugged it from her pocket. 

She offered it to him.

“Here – use this.”

His hand had been pinched at his nose, mercifully salvaging the crisp, white dress shirt he was wearing from the blood bath his body was running.

“Ah,” he accepted it with his free hand, seeming a little disoriented at all that had happened in the brief, tumbled moments they’d shared together. 

“Thank you – my apologies at being caught so…unprepared.”

That accent could turn her knees to jelly. She forced herself to meet his grateful expression with a confident one of her own.

“Don’t be silly – it happens to the best of us.”

His eyes darkened a bit at this.

“Yes, well – you were asking something of me, though I have to go now.”

She tried not to look too disappointed. His hand reached into his jacket pocket and fished out a tiny object that could easily be concealed in his fist.

“Find me tonight, and we will continue our conversation, yes?”

Tonight – that’s right, there was another night of tiny entrees and schmoozing for information, ahead of her. Everyone had liked to joke that the only thing that made these meetings damned near tolerable was the fact that they were fed well over the days they spanned. 

She would be able to find Mr. Braginsky and talk to him under a lesser time constraint there. 

Before she could respond, he pressed the object into her hand before turning to catch up with his boss. She was left watching after him, wide-eyed and dumbfounded. 

“What happened there?” Remy asked before spotting her closed fist, still held up from when Mr. Braginsky had placed an object in it. “What do you have there?”

Her fingers fanned delicately open to reveal a small, vintage, silver lighter.

“What’d he give you that for?”

She had no idea, though the dinner that night seemed like as good a place as any to ask him about it.

-

That night at the dinner, it was a little like the meeting; a cacophony of noise she felt swept away in, only this time, instead of the shutter sounds of cameras, it was the clinking of glasses and burly barks of laughter as she waded through the screen of cigar smoke.

Finding Mr. Braginsky was difficult in a sea of suits, but her hand curled determinedly around the lighter as she searched for his ashy hair and tall stature.

She’d been searching for about twenty minutes when their eyes finally met across the room. Mr. Braginsky was speaking to a man who she recognized as China’s figurehead, just from his trademark long hair alone. When Mr. Braginsky saw her, he leaned in and whispered something to Mr. Wang before approaching her. She noticed that Mr. Wang looked back at Mr. Braginsky as he left, his eyes flicking between his colleague and her, his face unreadable.

“You found me,” he smiled and she was immediately daunted by such an intimate expression being aimed at her.

“I did.” She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out the lighter. “And this, I believe, belongs to you.”

He accepted it and dropped it back into his breast pocket,

“ _Da_ , thank you for taking such good care of it. It’s old you see – and I still find use for it, from time to time.”

At the last part, Mr. Braginsky held his hand out palm down and sidled it – demonstrative of the not-super-often-not-super-scarcity of when he found uses for it. She was supremely proud he’d entrusted it to her, even if it was just for a few hours.

He leaned in, his voice by her ear so as to be heard over everything else in the room. 

“We have some things to talk about still, yes? Only, this is not the place to do so.”

From across the room a raucous burst of laughter could be heard from a circle of men. She flinched at the abrasive sound of a men's club and the things she imagined they talked about when business no longer schooled their sloppy tongues.

“I agree.”

“I’m glad – you are smart woman. Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

She followed him out of the hotel’s ballroom and through the lobby. 

When they got onto the elevator to the residential floors, her stomach flipped. She had only wanted a statement and now here she was, assumedly following him up to his room. She knew how it must look.

Mr. Braginsky did not seem to be one for small talk. The elevator ride up was quiet and she felt like a little girl as she stole flitted looks of him. 

He was wearing a pleasant smile – the sort polite people gave waitstaff and children in public. His eyes were indiscernible. In the mottled, low light of the elevator, they looked so deep a blue they were almost purple.

They got off on the eighteenth floor – where her room was as well - and she followed him to his room. 

He held the door open for her and when it shut loudly behind her, she felt the jolt tighten her, like purse strings being cinched shut. She felt this pressure settle down and gather behind her pelvic bone; it was like her body had caught wind that she was alone with a handsome man.

“Please, have a seat,” he gestured to the little table and pair of chairs off to the side, by the bed. 

Her face warmed at the sight of it as she obeyed.

“A drink?” He was searching through a drawer by the icebox. In his hand were two glasses. 

This was work and usually she remained sober at work but she also typically wasn’t alone in their room with whoever she was interviewing. She felt like more than anything, she needed a bit of liquid courage at that moment.

“Please.”

He set the glasses down on the table and filled them about halfway. 

Then, he took the seat across from her, his large frame dwarfing the quaint chair. 

His limbs looked too long for him to sit comfortably, though his face gave no indication that this was the case. He leaned in, elbows on the table so that his frame dominated that too. She felt a burning between her legs.

“I hope they are not working you too hard.” His eyes shifted over her. “You look very well.”

Her cheeks warmed at this. She didn’t want to feel meek, so she took a sip of her drink and kept her face steady as the vodka burned her throat.

“Thank you, you do also.”

_You always do._

She’d have to watch herself in thinking things like this while in this room, lest the liquor loosen her up too much.

He chuckled, finding her attempt at a compliment cute.

“Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for the handkerchief you lent me – I can return it if you’d like, or replace it - I am sure you don’t want it back now.”

He grimaced.

“It’s alright, you don’t need to replace it. You can just…throw it out or whatever.”

Mr. Braginsky made a face at this.

“I won’t throw it out.”

She expected him to say more, but he didn’t and this made her antsy. 

She took another sip of her drink.

“Now,” he said, watching her swallow, his lips curving into a little smile. 

“You wanted to talk earlier?”

Even though it was technically the only reason she followed him here, it took her a few moments to recall exactly what she had been looking for. It was hard to focus on much else with her throat on fire and the restless heat of his eyes at her skin.

“Ah, yes – I’m a reporter. I just wanted to see if I could get a small statement from you about the meeting today, Mr. Braginsky.”

“Please, call me Ivan, as my friends do.”

She _really_ wanted this statement. She tried to hold onto this.

“Oh? And are we friends?”

His lips curved into a small smile, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. 

Normally, this looked carelessly happy. Here, it looked cat-like.

“We are.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. She felt a rush of happiness in her chest but was uncomfortable with the almost dreamy smile her lips threatened to form. She was warm now. She took another sip. 

Ivan chuckled and sipped his drink as well. She noticed now that his glass was still pretty much full; hers was only about half.

“Then, Ivan, can I ask for a friendly, personal statement?" She quipped. Finally, there was some of that liquid courage. 

To her relief, Ivan seemed to find this cheekiness amusing as well. He laughed again, his nose scrunching up and his brow pulling into a furrow. It made her think he didn’t laugh all that often and the thought sort of made her sad. 

Her hand twitched, her sluggish mind catching up just enough to keep her from grabbing his hand.

“You are funny. Yes - a personal statement.” His eyes seemed to flash in the dark. 

It was then that she realized they were actually _in_ the dark, the only light he’d turned on had been the bathroom light, which was over by the door. 

“I like you. You are good company and pretty face – rare qualities in my ‘friends’.”

She flushed at this. Her mouth opened to reply but she had no response.

“What?” he teased. “Too personal?”

The heat simmering beneath her skin rose in her. She felt a tugging between her legs and choked by the heady fever in her.

“Ah- no, I-“

His hand moved to cover hers at the table. Immediately, she watched them. 

His hand was larger than hers, but as fine-boned as his face, with fingers that looked firm while still retaining a dexterous looking quality about them. He was wearing a silver band around his pinkie finger. When his hand flexed over hers, she felt the cold bite of the metal.

She looked at him and he leaned in. His eyes put a spell on her; she couldn’t move. Or breathe. Or think. 

She hoped he could turn her to stone, so she could preserve at least some modicum of dignity. 

He leaned so far in that she could feel his warm breath at her face. 

She felt her own breathing pick up as if the heat of him poured gasoline on the sparks spraying from her brain while it shorted out.

He watched her, his eyes flicking from her lips back up to meet her gaze, and then back to her lips again. She was shaking. Her lips parted, her eyes moving to half-lids.

Then he chuckled and leaned back. She felt like a fool; this was exacerbated by the sting of his absence as he removed his hand from hers.

“It is getting late and you seem…tired.” He said, though his voice was not unkind. “I am sorry I could not give you what you came for.”

“It’s fine.” She stood up, only pausing long enough for the room to stop spinning before she headed towards the door. 

She didn’t want to seem impolite, but she had a stomach full of vodka and hurt feelings. Her eyes stung and she couldn’t trust her voice.

He walked her to the door anyway and held it open for her.

“Good night and sleep well” he said, as she stepped out. “My friend.”

When the door shut, her heart was racing and her head was reeling. When she blinked, she still saw his eyes. The dull sting of his rejection grew stronger – all of this was probably why she didn’t feel the stare on her as she shambled off to her room down the hall.

Once in her room, she had no desire to piss about. Her head was swimming, the room was slowly revolving, and she had neither the energy nor sense to nurse her wounded ego tonight. The layout of her pristine, luxurious room depressed her – it looked just like Ivan’s, save for the lack of a handsome man inside of it. 

She tossed her bag down, shucked her jacket off, and went into the bathroom to slip into her nightgown. She looked at herself in the mirror and watched as a skinny strap slipped down her shoulder. The swell of her breast peeked out like this, and the lacey hem only slightly encroached on her thighs. The gown itself was thin and short – perfect for soothing the fire at her skin. Less perfect for when there was a sharp rap at her door.

Her shoulders jumped; who would be visiting her at this hour? Who even knew where her room was?

She had no robe to pull over herself, so she opened the door at a crack and peered through. 

To her confusion, there was no one there.

Poking her head out, she looked around, only to find that the length of the hallway was empty as well.

Unease prickled in her stomach and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. If not numbed by the alcohol, her instincts would’ve told her that she was being watched.

She stepped out, a little annoyed at whoever was playing this joke on her; all she wanted was to go to bed now.

A soft click startled her in this static silence and when she turned around, she saw that her room door had shut behind her. 

The good news was that she knew exactly where her key was – the bad news, was that it was on the little nightstand on the other side of the door.

Fuck. She didn’t want to head down to the front desk – especially like this while the hotel was crawling with people she worked with and for. What other choice did she have though?

A small part of her – the part that had accepted the drink from Ivan and watched her reflection in the bathroom mirror, told her to retrace her steps back to the room she came from earlier. Even drunk, she knew that was a silly, desperate option. 

Defeated, she started towards the elevator. 

The carpet was plush underfoot, though, in her flimsy garment, the hallway was a little cold. She wrapped her arms around herself and felt goosebumps.

About halfway down the hall, she heard something – a rustling? A shuffling? Some innocuous little sound that made her doubt the lonely appearance of the corridor. She turned to look behind her. 

There was no one.

Beside her, she was passing an open utility closet. How strange, she thought – were they always left open? It could be dangerous because of some of the chemicals stored inside, at worst, and a little unsightly with it's surplus of containers and cleaning supplies, at best.

She stood there thinking long enough for a light push to attack her from behind and send her stumbling into the closet. 

Letting out a startled yelp, she spun around on her heel and looked straight into the cold eyes of someone she only sort of knew.

Same elegant features and peculiar purple-blue eyes. Same ash blonde hair and commanding appearance as Ivan, though with a Lady Macbeth demeanor that somehow made her more daunting than her colleague. 

This was Belarus’ figurehead. 

She wracked her brain for her name. Ms. Arlovskaya?

By the time she felt sure in this, the door had since shut, leaving her alone. She pounded on the door before trying the knob though she already had the feeling it wouldn’t yield to her.

It was extra cold in here, especially with no more fluffy carpeting at her feet. The concrete was gritty. It made her feel dirty. 

She pounded on the door again, her hands feeling ineffectual against the heavy wood.

“Help! Somebody, help!” she called. “I’m stuck! Please let me out!”

She called this out and the sounds seemed to stretch minutes into hours. 

Sometimes she mixed and matched these phrases. Sometimes she pounded harder or slapped instead. Occasionally she kicked. In any case, she called until her voice was hoarse, and her hands ached.

She had just about given up getting out for the night. She must’ve been there for at least an hour. 

“Help,” she said, half-heartedly and rapped her knuckles against the door once. 

She winced. The skin was bruised.

She felt defeated and deflated. Tired, and sobering up slightly, she looked down at herself in her tiny nightgown. How silly. She would freeze to death in here, and then maintenance would come and find her the next morning and think; ‘ _What a silly, stupid woman to get stuck in here like this_.’

She had all but forgotten about Ms. Arlovskaya.

“Help,” she said again. No one would hear her at that register though.

To her shock, the door opened anyway. Ivan stood before her.

His presence was so unexpected that it took her a few moments to realize he was really there. They watched each other; his eyes slinking down her body, taking in the delicate way her nightgown clung to her and the way her nipples showed through the light fabric. 

She was hyperaware of this and how big her thighs must’ve looked now that they were bared. 

She wrapped her arms around herself again, crossing them over her chest; this concealed her nipples but gave him a more generous eyeful of her cleavage.

She was aware of how high up on her thighs the hem of her nightgown seemed to end. Lurking just below the floaty lilac of fabric, her own warm skin tone was abundantly visible. If he looked closely, he could see the contours of her body and the tuft of curls at the apex of her thighs.

She looked so delicate and soft in front of him. He had been half-hard when he'd had her alone in his room – this certainly would make things worse.

She yielded under the pressure of his gaze, diverting her own to the ground, a soft pink warming her cheeks.

“My friend,” he started. “You sleep in that? _Just_ that?”

She didn’t know how to answer. She mumbled out an embarrassed confirmation.

“It is lovely, don’t get me wrong, however, it does not…as some might say, leave a lot to the imagination.”

Her arms tightened around herself and he felt his cock twitch.

“That’s fine, I think,” he said casually. “My imagination is not so good. Certainly not as good as this.”

Her nipples were so cold they ached, hard as bullets. She felt herself grow wet – the cold on the outside could not stave off the fever inside of her, encouraged by this handsome man’s scrutiny. 

She clamped her thighs together, another movement that didn’t go unnoticed by Ivan.

He stepped in and pulled the door shut behind him.

When the door shut, they were in the dark again. Though she could barely make out Ivan’s shape in the dark, she could tell he was close; the rustling of his clothes was near, his body heat almost palpable against hers.

She could feel her nightgown shift and flutter against her, though she wasn’t sure if that was from some unseen vent somewhere in the room, or if Ivan was close enough to touch her.

Something ticklish sort of drew the hem of her nightgown up a few inches before letting it fall again. The sensation continued to trail up, past her hipbone, over her belly, past her ribcage to the underside of her breast.

Now she was certain – he was touching her. The sensation of his fingers was too solid to be anything less.

She felt him palm her breast through her nightgown and her breath hitched in her throat. He squeezed gently. She felt like her chest was heaving with how it pressed against his grasp. His fingers flexed against her soft skin, squeezing and letting the plushness of her slip past his fingers until his touch had zeroed in on her nipple. He pinched her and she yelped.

His hand never left her, though when he touched her next, his thumb was stroking gently at the hardened peak of her breast.

“You are sensitive.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Not to this man, who was touching her so intimately in the dark. She barely knew him, though she was quite certain he could snap her like a twig.

“Are you scared?”

She could hear her breathing – the split difference between being labored and panting. 

“A little,” she admitted.

Ivan made a sound at the back of his throat though he didn’t seem angry or disappointed. Instead it was…mere acknowledgment. A sign he’d heard and understood her. His thumb was still stroking at her, sending little flecks of pleasure shooting down her spine to collect more warm wetness between her legs. Her earlier arousal was back.

“You took care of me earlier tonight.”

Again she found herself a little dumbfounded.

Right. The handkerchief: it felt like it had been a thousand years since she’d given that to him.

“Now I take care of you.”

She wondered why he’d stepped in now, instead of letting her out. 

Couldn’t he have taken better care of her in a bed? Any possible answer she considered depressed her; he was ashamed of himself, he was ashamed of her – or worse. 

She didn’t want to think of things like this. Instead, she let her eyes flutter shut as she leaned into him. 

Given how tall Ivan was, she already knew she’d have to stand on her toes to kiss him. She did this, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as she did so to keep her balance. His head bowed low so he could catch her lips with his.

It was maybe the only gentle thing he’d do for her then. His arms came around her in a vise-like grip, dragging her to him by the small of her back. His body, large and hard against her seemed to smother her roughened breaths, his lips stealing from her the very air they drove out.

His kisses were hard too, as was the bulge between his legs. She moaned a breathless, helpless little sound. She was a ragdoll in his arms, going only where he put her, molding completely to him. When her head fell back, he went to her throat and brought the roughness of his kisses there too. 

She felt the sting of him sucking at her neck, the ache of how he lightly sunk his teeth in, and she whined. Whatever things he wanted from her, terrible and glorious, she felt fully prepared to give him in that moment.

His grip at her back slunk down and roughly grabbed her ass. He moved forward, forcing her backward until she hit the wall. She could hear the clatter of a wet floor sign as he kicked it away, the ricochet of a plastic bucket as it was bumped onto its side before rolling to the refuge of a shadow-dampened corner. 

Her back hit the cold concrete of the wall and she grunted. 

This actually had hurt, though if Ivan cared, he gave no indication.

From her ass, his hands went down to her thighs and suddenly she was being hoisted up, his hips pinning hers to the wall as her knees hitched up at his hips. 

The motion drove the hem of her nightie up her thighs and they heard a ripping sound. Both of them froze.

Her face warmed. She was mortified. 

“ _O-oh_ -”

Ivan was the first to recover. She felt the fabric strain as his hands found it, and then he was wrenching it apart and the ripping sound came again. Hanging raggedly around her body, he looped it up easily over her head and tossed it away.

“Is fine. We don’t need it anymore.”

The chill of the room completely washed over her then, threatening to drag her under like dark, churning waters. Ivan was there though, his grip on her, bruising iron. He wouldn’t let her fall, she was sure of this at least.

His arms around her seemed to tighten further as he brought his lips to hers in another searing kiss. He nipped at her mouth, and she felt a sharp sting that only seemed to stoke the fires of her arousal. Her hands scrabbled for a grip at his broad shoulders, but he made her weak, and so her fingers seemed to drip from him like water on marble.

He broke the kiss briefly, his forehead pressed against hers, his hot breath panting at her mouth.

“You have lovely body, _my friend_.”

Her cheeks warmed though he couldn’t see. He hitched her up in his arms again, trying to get a better grip on her sweat-slick body. Her entire body jostled as he adjusted his grip. She felt so _lewd_. She was grateful for the dark.

This was only heightened as a hand came roughly down on her ass, the sting of his strike dispelling the chill at her skin in favor of an itching heat. 

At the feeling of how she stiffened at this, Ivan let out a grunt of satisfaction and jerked his hips against her, grinding his clothed erection against her sex. 

She gasped, getting a taste of how big he was even through the confines of his trousers.

“ _Ah_ \- you’re so-“

Though she didn’t finish her sentence, Ivan seemed to catch her compliment well enough. 

She had just enough time to feel the faint rumble in his chest - a chuckle? 

A grunt? – before he planted his face into her cleavage, nuzzling into her breasts. He rocked his hips against her and exalted in the feeling of how her soft body shifted against him. 

She let out a whine, flustered at how he seemed to bury himself in her. 

In his arms, she felt like he was indulging in every part she had found insecurity in. He seemed to catch onto her vulnerabilities like a magnet, taking them for his own.

He lifted his face enough to catch a nipple in his mouth and sucked roughly.

Her head fell back against the wall, but the dull ache that came from it melted away from the heat of their arousals. Her hands smoothed up to catch in his hair, carding through it gently. 

She couldn’t bring herself to be rough back with him; she wanted to preserve at least some shred of tenderness when he fucked her, and if he was to monopolize on all of it, then so be it. She gently brushed some hair from his forehead, her palm curving tenderly against his cheek.

His sharp eyes found her in the dark.

“You touch me like we are lovers.”

Her heart seemed to swell. It threatened to choke her and truthfully, that might’ve been less humiliating.

“Nonsense,” she said, her voice weak. “I’m touching you like we’re friends.”

“ _Good_ friends.”

Given how they’d really just spoken for the first time tonight, she knew his response was accusatory. Not only was he mapping out her body with his hands, but he was scoping out the secret inner-workings of her heart, infiltrating her inner sanctum.

It didn’t matter if he had a coke addiction effect on her heart, she still didn’t dare let him see it in its entirety.

“I have a lot of good friends,” she returned, and his eyes seemed to flash.

How peculiar; she had expected him to look relieved at this – most one-night stands would be. Instead he seemed angry, and beneath that, something else.

He let her down from his arms, and for a moment, she thought she’d angered him to the point of him calling the whole thing off, but then he was pushing her down on a box shoved into the corner. The way she fell sitting on top of it left her legs parted for him and he knelt before her.

She felt exposed this way, with his eyes staring up at her nude form, catching her gaze through the valley of her breasts.

She wanted to close up and hide away. She had enough of this chill; she wanted to feel safe.

She moved to clamp her legs shut but his strong hands intercepted the motion. 

She gasped as he wrenched her legs apart, grabbing her by her thighs and hoisting her forward so that her slick sex was just inches from his face.

He could feel the tension in her limbs, the fearful tentativeness as he manhandled her.

“I will only make you feel good,” he promised, his voice softening. 

Her chest rose and fell sharply with her breath. His hands smoothed up around her hips, gently nudging her forward. 

She obeyed, the soft inquiry of his touch reassuring her more than the rough demand that had formerly disciplined him.

Now she could feel his warm breath fanning over her and she shivered. 

Her musky scent curled around him and he inhaled deeply, drawing it in. God, did he love the scent of a wanting partner. He reached for her with his thumb and forefinger to part the pattering of curls between her legs, revealing the wet seam of her cunt.

He bent his head like he had when he’d kissed her earlier, only this time, when his lips reached her she jolted in his grasp, hips writhing against him as she arched forward, breasts thrust out.

He chuckled at her transformation from when he’d seen her earlier; the reporter he’d met had been confident and steady, with just a tiny dash of that naïve fire in her belly. He’d made an absolute mess of her now; one that he could sample with his tongue like fine wine, and catch the sharp scent of as he nuzzled closer into her wet folds.

He’d meant the compliments he’d paid her earlier – as hot as it was to take her in a dirty, dark place like this, a part of him also wanted her sprawled on his bed beneath him – the one he had at home, not the too-crisp-to-be-slept-in ones here - his sheets swathed around her form.

For now, he settled on bringing her closer to him, his hands having resumed their hold at her hips, clutching her so tightly she was practically riding his face. She rolled her hips towards him and he licked long and deliberate, tracing her slit before moving his lips in a series of intimate, open-mouthed kisses.

She moaned, her fingers playing tentatively at the ends of his hair; she wanted to hold him as well, though his earlier comment had her fretting about the notion of wearing her heart too openly on her sleeve.

Ivan seemed to catch this.

His eyes peered up at her, catching the distraught furrow of her brow and the rampant flush of her cheeks. He reached up to push her hands further into his hair before moving a hand to her breast. 

He squeezed again, thumb drawing over a taut nipple as he ground the flat of his tongue against her.

“ _Ivan_ -“

He angled his head upward slightly, his tongue probing for the sensitive bundle of nerves hooded in her sex. He knew when he’d found it because she sounded like she might cry from the ecstasy of how he worked her. Her fingers in his hair tightened and it only seemed to urge his tongue to move more frantically, his mouth no longer leisurely tasting her, but now vying fervently to have her come undone all over him.

She came against him with a deep moan, her chest heaving and her legs drawing up. His hands kept her anchored to his mouth as she stiffened. Ivan never stilled himself; his tongue kept its flitted movements and he continued to kiss her, loving the sporadic twitches and how the pleasure he caused seemed to possess her.

He could tell when she was starting to come down from her thrumming orgasm when the tugging at his hair turned into pushing at his head; she was terribly oversensitive now, and he was still tasting her. 

His arousal flared at the sight of her completely at his disposal. He ground his face against her sex, kissing her fiercely, and watched as she flinched away.

“ _Ah_!-“ she gasped, “It’s too-“

Ivan pulled away and brought his sleeve against his mouth, wiping himself of her slick, which gleamed at his lips.

“My _friend_ \- you are finest wine I’ve ever tasted.” 

He chuckled a little and though it was the heartiest she’d ever heard him joke, she couldn’t help but discern it as a lewd compliment. She blushed and crossed her legs. 

“There is an entire ocean between your legs,” he continued, reaching for the zip on his trousers. 

He pulled himself out and at the sight of him, she felt the heat of her arousal rear up and drop between her legs once more. He was big – she’d figured he would be, and of course, she’d felt how hard he was, but seeing it now, the effect she had on him only made her want to give every last piece of herself in return. 

He pulled her up gently onto her feet, keeping his hold on her for when her legs turned to jelly. When she fell into his chest, he wrapped his arms around her, his hands sliding down to her legs to once again hoist her up against the wall like he had before.

She was sapped of her strength; instead of clutching onto him, she let herself be caught between a wall and a hard place.

He looked down as he palmed his length and guided it to her entrance. She felt the thick tip of him press at her, and when he’d begun pushing it in, his lips caught hers in a kiss that held a tenderness he’d neglected to incorporate before.

Was it intended to soothe her? He had been right about how wet she was – despite his formidable girth, there was no pain other than the slight burn of a faint stretch as he entered her. 

She took him in stride and then he was hilted inside of her.

Her breathing roughened; even without him moving, he was driving her nuts. 

He filled her up absolutely. Just breathing was enough to catch the throbbing heat of him inside of her. She thought that perhaps, he was the largest she’d ever taken. 

She squeezed around him and Ivan pulled out to the tip before ramming into her. 

His thrusts came fast and bruising right away – there was no time for her to catch up to him, she was there only to submit as he chased his own pleasure. Her own arousal was building as she was still recovering from her recent release, and the stroke of him against her walls was as glorious as it was agonizing. The friction was delicious, the white-hot sensitivity she felt her body recoil with, was less so. Every cell in her seemed to flinch at the way he pounded into her. 

She recoiled away and into him with each movement, her arms folding around his neck as she buried her face into his shoulder. Her fingers flexed as he kept thrusting and she thought with how viciously he was taking her right about then, there was no way he wasn’t bruising her on the inside as well.

Her fingers tensed where the collar of his shirt became scar tissue and he stiffened suddenly.

She looked up, startled as he stilled inside of her.

“Not my neck,” he said in a cold voice.

His chest was rising and falling sharply too – it could’ve been the exertion of their fucking, but she also just noticed it now. It made him look disgruntled. The dark of the room shadowed the column of his throat, and though she thought she maybe saw the faint ragged, meandering line etched out against his flesh, like a cartographed river, she didn’t get enough time to confirm this, because then Ivan was pulling out of her and turning her around in his arms.

She was breathlessly startled as he pressed her into the wall again. 

She flinched at the cold bite of the concrete against her breasts, and then he’d entered her again, his hips slamming against her ass.

The inside of her soured a little and she felt her throat and eyes sting. 

Did he hate her now? It certainly felt like that was possible. Each thrust seemed to push her entire body against the wall, like the reverberation of impact in a car accident. 

Her fretting held her taut, her already snug fit around him tightening. 

Ivan moaned.

His hands shifted from her ribcage to her breasts, his large hands enveloping them fully, using them as leverage as he fucked her.

She felt like he was pulling her to pieces, the shift of her body so fluid in his hands. 

She felt dirty and used; it hurt her feelings but stoked her arousal. The take was intoxicating, the emptiness all the better for him to fill with his spend. 

She clenched around him again, feeling herself near a second orgasm and she cursed her body for betraying her to this rough man.

“Mm, again?” He grunted near her ear. “Me too. Let’s come together.”

Her chest swelled at this and she felt him twitch. When a warm, fluttery heat spread inside of her, it took her a moment to realize that it was their respective releases, and not just the hope that her body had redeemed her earlier misstep with him. Her body ran hot and cold. She saw spots. She wondered if it was the same for him.

His hand was by her head, holding him up against the wall as he held her. 

She could feel his chest brush her back as he struggled to catch his breath. The only sound was the sound of them breathing it seemed, for a few moments. 

She was too afraid to look back at him.

Her nerves flared when his hand left where it was at the wall. She felt a ticklish sensation at her hair, and then the sharper, more solid feel of him tangling his fingers in it and tugging her head up.

Her breathing roughened again; a nervous response.

He shushed her tenderly, the way a parent might try and quiet a fussing child, before pressing a soft kiss to her neck. Her eyelashes fluttered at this.

“Hm.”

“What is it?”

He was quiet for a few moments and she felt his hand brush her hair back from her face. Something nudged into the crown of her head – his nose? His lips?

“I am touching you like you are my lover,” he murmured against her.

She didn’t have anything to say to that. Her body felt battered and sore as she sagged against him. Despite the fatigue that must’ve been creeping up on him, he kept her soundly in his arms. When she closed her eyes, occasionally an instance would pass in which she could convince herself it was romantic.

He didn’t pull out of her, and when he shifted, she could feel that he wasn’t completely soft.


End file.
